Almost daily I receive one of those “How To Change Your Life By Age 30″ and every day, like a sucker, I click them and try to see how I stack up. Midway through the list I realize that I am a useless girl-child who never learned how to balance a checkbook or gauge her tire pressure before said tire explodes on the highway at 78 mph. Those lists make me feel depressed, worthless, and totally unfit to be seen in human society. Actually I’d be just as worthless in chimpanzee society because at least they know how to use rudimentary tools while I recently was rushed to the ER after drilling through my own thumb. I’m not good at being an adult. I sleep too late, I eat too much fast food, I spend an excessive amount on beauty products that I end up giving away to people, and I spend at least $50 a week on lottery scratch off tickets.
On top of that, when I look in the mirror I no longer see a young girl, cheeks pink with the first flush of youth. Instead I see an old, withered woman with deep-set wrinkles and mysterious wiry hairs poking out of new moles not unlike a forest witch. My giant breasts, once prized for their size and perkiness now droop like the face of a stroke victim covered in melted candle wax. Things that were once high and tight are now low and loose. It’s like watching a time-lapse video of a rotting animal. Except hairier.
I woke up like this. #flawless
To cheer myself up from the horror show that is my quickly unraveling body, I decided to Google “things every 20-something should accomplish”. I thought, hey, my body is failing me but I’ve got my shit together. I’m at a desk, in an office, at a company AND I have a bank account! Sadly, as I poured over the list I came to the startling conclusion that I am an all-around human turd/failure of a person with no hope for a better life. Here are a few of the things Google thinks I should have accomplished by my late twenties:
HAHAHA what??! I have literally done zero of those things. I don’t even know how half those things are even possible. I think we should all stop giving a fuck about those lists because you’re going to fall short because no one except Beyonce can make those things happen before the age of 30. Instead, I suggest we all adopt my revised list which is much more realistic and attainable:
“Hey Mom. Yeah, my new job is going great! I get to make my own hours and work from home! I’m actually a little tied up right now. Can we talk later?”
See? That is the kinda list I can get behind. So I think we should all stop trying to grow up so fast. We have our entire lives to be responsible and not drunk and sloppy. That being said, I’m going to try to enter my late twenties as gracefully as possible. The ugly truth is that I’m not getting any younger. There’s no amount of sea-kelp infused virgin foreskin night repair cream that will reverse the signs of aging from my weathered face. I’m going to try a new approach to getting older. Instead of fearing the reaper I shall embrace him with my dry, scaly, dull skinned arms. Instead of pretending to have an offshore account with a separate bank I will proudly admit to the Wells Fargo teller that no, I don’t bank with anyone else, and yes, I only have $13 in my account and yes, I would like to make a withdrawal. Sure my cable gets turned off from time to time and my parents keep trying to explain what Syria is to me but whatever. Current events are for your 30’s, savings accounts are for your 40’s, cat-print jeggings are for your 20’s and as far as I’m concerned, I’m Forever 21.
